


la jolla.

by honeydowo



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Family Dynamics, Hurt No Comfort, Metaphors, Running Away, Sad Ending, no beta we die like revolutionaries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-26
Updated: 2020-09-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26664598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydowo/pseuds/honeydowo
Summary: It's too cold for me here. I'm going to La Jolla.Wilbur stares down at the paper. His writing stares back.What else is there to say? Who else should he write to? A million of could-be friendships reflect on the metal top of his pen, a million maybe letters and half appropriate words follow after them.There's nothing.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 94





	la jolla.

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [San Salvador](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/691378) by Peter Bichsel. 



_la jolla._

He's bought a new pen. 

It's a shiny, expensive looking thing; a little too fancy for someone like him and a place like this. 

It might be the most expensive thing he's ever bought, Wilbur muses, a damn pen. 

He writes his address. His parents' address. His name, once, twice.

_Wilbur Soot. William Gold. Wilbur Soot. William Gold. Will._

He writes an entire page like that. Tears it out. Puts it in the bin.

There's an ink stain on his hand now, an ugly line of blue division right in the centre of it, drying a darker shade of black.

Wilbur watches the ink settle into his skin. It makes the lines on his hand stand out a little more - they run blue like rivers in spring.

_Here, Niki says as she takes his hand, right here. See those lines?_

_Wilbur looks down at his palm, a mess of lines and scars and years of experience, calloused and rough and nods. He compares the size of them to the laugh lines on Niki's face and thinks, I wish my scars were those of beauty, and, I hope she doesn't feel the terrible roughness of it all._

_The lines on your hand are open towards the end, right? So that means you're an angel!_

_Wilbur laughs, a little humourless thing and Niki looks a little confused but she joins in too and it's perfect._

I'm so cold, Wilbur writes. Crosses it out. It feels to familiar, brings the memory of winter, warm fireplaces and sweaters and the sound of laughter, somewhere distant. 

It's too cold for me here. I'm going to La Jolla. 

Wilbur stares down at the paper. His writing stares back. 

What else is there to say? Who else should he write to? A million of could-be friendships reflect on the metal top of his pen, a million maybe letters and half appropriate words follow after them.

There's nothing.

Wilbur sits. 

At half past ten, Techno would come home from fencing. He'd see the letter on the table, knock on his door to find the room abandoned.

Maybe he'd go to the caravan or the train tracks or Niki's place. He'd loosen his braid with one hand and half-smile, as if expecting it to be a big joke, maybe, or just a dream easily pushed away once awoken.

He'd panic and pace around the kitchen and break something and come to terms with it, maybe.

  
  


It's too cold for me here. I'm going to La Jolla, the letter reads. 

Wilbur signs it.

And then he waits.

On the radio, someone explains the dangers of social media.

The ink on his palm has dried to be black.

On the back of the package his pen came in, there's a manual. He reads it once, in English, then in German and Dutch. Compares the translations, and thinks they could be better.

Thinks that Niki and Fundy would make fun of him for his pronunciation.

And then he sits.

At half past ten, Techno comes home.

"Is Tommy asleep yet?"

With one hand, he loosens his braid.

**Author's Note:**

> This is probably not the best thing I've ever written. And it's very short.  
> But we read this story in class - it's called "San Salvador", and it has this underlying theme of being cold, or generally unhappy with one's life. And I thought that would fit Wilbur really well, not only because of the infamous "I'm so cold" arg line, but also because la jolla is a song about wishing to be somewhere else entirely, even though you know it's impossible. So yeah, here it is!  
> I might delete this later, I don't know yet.
> 
> Twitter - [honeydowo](https://twitter.com/honeydowo) !!


End file.
